Mowing is the worst. I mow simply to avoid velociraptors in the tall grass. Totally practical. For years I mowed our lawn with a really sharp push mower. It was a quiet, blissful experience that took an hour and a half and left me exhausted. When the firstborn was very little we packed him up in a back-pack carrier and strapped him to my back. He would yammer and yammer behind me as we ran through the yard with the mower cutting down blades of grass one by one. It was fun, but, again, I pretty much needed a nap once the yard was done.
A few years and a second kid later, we realized time is really better spent on pretty much anything other than yard maintenance. Seriously, if we could grow fruits and vegetables over every inch of our space it would be so much better. But that’s for another post altogether. We picked up a quiet electric mower, cut the time spent to twenty minutes and get to snap FPS Mower photos. Life is good.
Mowing is less suck-tastic (the technical term) with a four year old and his plastic version of the big lawn mower. He walks in lines, moves back and forth to ensure the whole strip is cut properly, watches me to see how corners or trees are handled; he wants to do a good job. Along the way he stops to pick dandelions for his mom too. That one I have no idea where he learned, but it is wonderful.
He’s our big helper in the lawn now. Mostly in the “helper”, heavy on the air quotes, sense, but we’re getting closer to the glorious day in which I get to hang up my mower and hand over the reigns. He’ll think it is a sign of adulthood being reached and take on the task with a handshake and a smile. I will mutter, “sucker” and do a Sudoku while he does all the work. One day…